I said nothing to him that day of the prince’s gracious gift—­he had already had as much excitement as he could bear—­but Jacques, of course, had heard of it, and the trusty fellow showed as much pride as if he himself had received a patent of nobility.  Roger Braund, too, came to congratulate me, and his pleasure was so genuine that it made mine the greater.  Altogether I think that day after the battle of Arnay-le-Duc was the most wonderful of my life.

The defeat of Marshal Cosse was so complete that we met with no further opposition, but pushed on to Chatillon, the sleepy little town which had the honour of being the birth-place of our noble chief.  Having to attend on the Admiral, I left my wounded comrade in the care of Jacques, who made him as comfortable as possible in one of the wagons, and waited upon him day and night.  Whenever opportunity offered I rode back to see him, and each time found to my delight that he was progressing favourably.

At last we reached the town and rode along the main street through groups of cheering citizens to the castle, a strong and massive fortress with ample accommodation for thousands of persons.  It stood in the midst of a vast enclosure, surrounded by a deep and wide fosse; and the thick walls, as Roger remarked, appeared capable of withstanding the assaults of a well-equipped army.

Inside the enclosure were large gardens and handsome terraces, while the huge tower, sixty feet high, looked down into a wide and spacious courtyard.

“This is pleasant and comfortable,” said Roger that same evening, “but what does it mean?  Why have we come here?  I understood we were to march on Paris.”

“I do not know; there is some talk of peace.  Several important messengers were despatched post-haste to the king directly after the defeat of Cosse.”

Roger shrugged his shoulders.  “I think it a mistake,” he said; “one should never come to terms with an enemy who is only half-beaten; it gives him time to recover.”

“Well, this is pleasanter than marching through Dauphigny.”

“So it is,” he agreed laughingly; “what a magnificent old place it is!  Your nobles are very powerful; almost too powerful for the king’s comfort I should fancy.  How is Felix?”

“Getting well rapidly, and clamouring to leave his bed.  As usual, he is just a little too impatient.”

“That is his chief failing,” said Roger, “but he is a gallant fellow nevertheless.  I wonder how your mother and sister are!”

“If we stay here, as seems likely, I shall despatch Jacques on a visit to Rochelle.”

“Do not forget to say I send them my deepest respect and sympathy.  Indeed, Jacques might carry a little note from me.”

“To my mother?” I asked mischievously.

“Of course,” he replied, with a blush that became him well; but all the same when, a few days later, Jacques started on his journey, I noticed that Roger’s letter was addressed to Jeanne.  Perhaps being in a hurry he had made a mistake!